


What Was Your Name Again?

by Ghostinthehouse



Series: Demon and Angel Professors [148]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Professors, Disabled Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Other, Queer Guardian Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:54:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28505544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostinthehouse/pseuds/Ghostinthehouse
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale spend the night before term starts putting together their handouts for their course information
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Demon and Angel Professors [148]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1412962
Comments: 37
Kudos: 571
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	What Was Your Name Again?

Crowley and Aziraphale spend the night before term starts putting together their handouts for their course information. Crowley's are stacked neatly, each course fastened together with a different colour clip so that he can tell them apart at a glance. Aziraphale's are more chaotic, sorted into haphazard piles in some method that makes sense only to him.

Crowley adds the last set to his pile and sags back into the sofa, running a long hand over his face before he sighs and sits up again. His glasses lie discarded on the table between them. "I'm going to make a hot drink, want anything?"

Aziraphale looks up with a soft smile. "I'll come too, dear," he says, stooping to gather the empty mugs. "These should be washed before they're filled again."

In the kitchen, Crowley fills the kettle, then switches it on and slouches into a seat to wait. His hands drum an absent rhythm on the kitchen table. Left, left, right. Left, left, right. Left, left, right...

Aziraphale rinses out the mugs and sets them neatly on the rack to dry, then leans over Crowley and rests his hands gently on his husband's bony shoulders. "Ready to take on the world?"

Crowley tips his head back against Aziraphale's wide chest, his eyes naked, but hooded with tiredness. "Someday."

Aziraphale's eyes harden just a little, not pleading for peace, but stubbornly set on building peace one lesson at a time. His thumbs move in circles, coaxing the knots and tension out of Crowley's shoulders and neck. "Have I ever told you how glad I am that your place is beside me?"

Crowley ventures a slight smile. "Only a million times, angel. But the feeling is mutual, obviously."

The kettle screams, interrupting anything else they might have said.

***

Aziraphale bustles through the day and the arrival of all the new first years in his classroom. He finds the correct information sheets for each of his courses with unerring ease, fully aware that the apparently haphazard pile visible on his desk makes him look softer, more human, and more approachable than a bare desk might.

Halfway through his third lesson, he catches a young woman glancing warily at him, a shoulder bag covered with pins on the seat beside her. Although she seems faintly familiar, he can't, for the moment, place her. He doesn't try too hard. It will come to him or it won't, there's no forcing the matter. Instead, he smiles cheerfully and generally at all the students, noting the wariness, but not letting it show on his face, even as he deftly drops a carefully metered, carefully casual reference to his dear husband Anthony into his spiel. Half the room relaxes as they take in that he's married, and a soft ripple of indrawn breaths track the realisation that he's married to a man and therefore openly, visibly, queer.

He catches a flicker of surprise and then a tiny smile on the wary woman's face, and then she looks down, staring at her notes instead of him.

Speculation about his husband, dear Anthony, breaks out as soon as he dismisses the students. They don't even wait until they've left the room, and Aziraphale lets his inward amusement warm his outward smile. The woman is slow packing her things into her back, clearly listening to the discussion too, and her gaze flickers from his face to the students and back again, before she draws a deep breath and seems to come to a decision.

She walks down towards Aziraphale rather than to the door. "I thought you ought to know," she says quietly, fiddling with one of the pins on her shoulder bag (a teacup in trans pride colours), "that I know who you're married to."

He looks up. Smiles. Raises an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, what was your name, again?"

She looks up then. "It's Barbara," she says, and a grin flares and then vanishes like a firework. "But you can call me 'B' if you like."


End file.
